Review by New York Times Review
Three picture books evoke the joy of adventure and discovery, without the interference of fearful adults. BEYOND THE POND Written and illustrated by Joseph Kuefler 40 pp. Balzer & Bray. $17.99. (Picture book; ages 4 to 8) THE TEA PARTY IN THE WOODS Written and illustrated by Akiko Miyakoshi 32 pp. Kids Can Press. $16.95. (Picture book; ages 3 to 7) THE LITTLE GARDENER Written and illustrated by Emily Hughes 40 pp. Flying Eye Books. $17.95. (Picture book; ages 3 to 7) ON MY WALK to the studio each morning, I pass a busy playground. Recently I overheard one mother telling another: "Thank God! I found him! He was hiding." She held the sheepish child firmly by the wrist. I have felt the intense panic of temporarily losing a child, but nonetheless I shot the kid a sympathetic glance. It's hard to be an explorer these days. Summer camps and preschools tout "exploration" as part of their agenda, as long as you wear a brightly colored uniform T-shirt, never stray out of sight and explore only things that have already been thoroughly explored. Thank goodness for picture books. It seems we may have arrived at - or returned to - an age in picture books where the children depicted are free to explore the limits of their imagination unrestricted by adult fears for their safety. Over the years, cautious editors have asked me to draw in helmets and seatbelts and parents. Once, on an image of a child looking out at the moon, I was told to add safety bars to the window. I'm happy to present three new books that are refreshingly free of such constraints. Ernest D., in Joseph Kuefler's "Beyond the Pond," decides today is the day he's going to explore the depths of the pond behind his rather dull house. His trusty dog by his side, he gathers a very pleasing array of explorer supplies: butterfly net, camera, sword, chocolate; all of which, in a satisfying abandon of logic, fit into a tiny backpack. "And with that, Ernest D. dove ... down between the fishes and the frogs, past the squid and sharks and shapeless things, into his pond forever deep." On a glorious two-page spread, inky waters, elegant weedy fronds and balletic squid are illuminated by a dramatic beam of light from Ernest's flashlight. He dives deeper and deeper, to emerge at last in a magical, parallel world, inhabited by dinosaurs and koalas and a mouse riding a unicorn. (The world is described as big and raucous, but the pastel-hued, misty illustration suggests quite a serene scene.) "All this was hiding in a pond,' said Ernest D. ?How exceptional.'" When our hero returns home, he finds the world "wasn't quite as he'd left it." Spring has sprung, or maybe he's just seeing everything with fresh eyes. Kuefler's digitally layered illustrations are reminiscent of Jon Klassen's and are spare enough that inconsistencies from page to page niggle. But the book has a knockout cover, there's wit in the details, and the before-and-after aerial views make thoughtful endpapers. Kikko, the child in Akiko Miyakoshi's "The Tea Party in the Woods," also sets out alone into the unknown. She is on a mission to catch up with her father, who has forgotten to take a pie intended for Kikko's grandmother, whose house lies on the other side of the woods. Overnight snowfall has transformed the world into a still, quiet, black-and-white place, beautifully rendered in smudgy charcoal and pencil, warmed by Kikko's red accessories and yellow hair. Miyakoshi's illustrations are quietly magical. Viewed close up, they seem to be made of simple grainy marks, but if you hold the book at arm's length, the drawings take on the appearance of selectively tinted old photographs. Kikko spies a man ahead in a long coat. She runs to him but falls and crushes the pie box. She struggles on, following him to an unfamiliar house. As he takes off his hat she realizes it's not her father at all, but a bear! Curious, Kikko enters a surreal tea party of woodland creatures, who stare at her with arresting, unblinking expressions. There is something wonderfully unsettling and reassuring about this scene. Although they walk upright and wear clothes, these wild boars and rabbits, badgers and deer have an animal countenance. They don't wink or grin or give high fives. They welcome her to join their feast without much change of expression. If you've ever looked a wild animal in the eye, you'll recognize how this benign acceptance feels like a gift. The animals escort Kikko to Grandma's house, in a joyful parade through the snow. "My dear, did you come all this way on your own?" Grandma asks, and Kikko replies, smiling, "You're never alone in the woods." It's a gem of a book, with just enough Grimm foreboding and a suitably enigmatic ending. The title character in Emily Hughes's "The Little Gardener" is a tiny child who lives in a little straw house, in a forest of giant plants, with a pet worm for company. His garden means everything to him. "It was his home. It was his supper. It was his joy." He works "very, very hard," but the weeds are relentless and his seedlings wither. It's an overwhelming task for one so small. Hughes's illustrations thrum with life. The drawings are a tangle of Gauguin and Rousseau and botanical journals. They remind me of a rain forest floor - the closer you look, the more you see until the whole image seems to writhe. With this in mind, I have a small issue with the opening of the book. The illustration that accompanies the words "This was the garden. It didn't look like much" looks to me like a lot. It's a beautiful William Morris-y pattern of exotic plants growing out of black, volcanic-looking soil. But we learn from the text that the garden is dying. The gardener's only success is a magnificent red zinnia, which gives him hope. But it seems hope is not enough, and one night, feeling defeated, he sends a tiny wish out into the garden: "I wish I had a bit of help." Nobody hears his words, but a girl who lives in the big house nearby sees his flower and is inspired. As the exhausted little gardener sleeps through a whole month, the girl enlists a friend and together they nurture the garden into spectacular bloom. When the little gardener wakes up, his world has been transformed into a dark, rich forest of flowers. He returns to work, as diligent as ever, but there's new reverence and gratitude on all sides for this labor of love. Last summer I visited my boyfriend's childhood home in New Hampshire. Behind the house, he told me, was a forest that he explored - fearlessly - when he was 6. It was vast and limited only by his imagination. The forest, it now became clear, was no more than three trees deep. The neighbor's trimmed lawn could be seen through the undergrowth. We walked through it all the same and saw, at the foot of a tree, a carefully arranged circle of pebbles. SOPHIE BLACKALL is the illustrator, most recently, of "A Fine Dessert."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [September 6, 2015]
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Unfolding on a more intimate scale than her debut, Wild (2013), Hughes's story stars a diminutive gardener in a straw hat and overalls who struggles to keep up with the weeds in his garden. Since he's the size of a mouse, he has to chop them down like trees, and it's slow going. Hughes paints a single, magnificent close-up of the scarlet zinnia that's the boy's only success: "It was alive and wonderful. It gave the gardener hope and it made him work even harder." Exhausted, he falls asleep, breathing a fervent wish through the window of his straw hut: "I wish I had a bit of help." The glorious zinnia draws the attention of two human children; when the gardener wakes, the weeds are gone, and the garden is full of bloom. In this inversion of "The Elves and the Shoemaker," the big and strong help the small and weak, and the gardener never discovers how his garden has become so beautiful. It's a tender metaphor for of the miracle of gardening. Hughes's rich, rhythmic storytelling voice and dark tapestry spreads carry perennial magic. Ages 3-7. Agent: Stephen Barr, Writers House. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 1-Inspired by a single glorious flower, a Tom Thumb-like gardener toils himself into exhaustion in his attempts to tame enormous weeds and clear the litter from his property. When he finally sleeps in his cozy straw cottage, a regular-size girl is motivated by the same bloom, then takes over the task. When the title character wakes, he and his helper relish the resulting bursts of flora, especially the plant they first admired. Hughes uses minimal text and a dark palette to great effect. The lush wilderness, likely inspired by her Hawaiian background, luckily remains even in the completed garden. VERDICT A gentle fairy tale, the story encourages tenacity and speaks to the value of teamwork and environmental stewardship.-Gay Lynn Van Vleck, Henrico County Library, Glen Allen, VA © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A lad scarcely bigger than his pet worm struggles to maintain a large garden by himself. The garden "didn't look like much, / but it meant everything to its gardener. // It was his home. It was his supper. / It was his joy." Lushly painted primordial plant forms surround the boy's tiny thatched cottage; stylized depictions suggest proliferating invaders like thistle and plantain. As undesirables multiply and insects infest, the harvest worsens. The boy despairs: "he wasn't much good at gardening. // // He was just too little." Dispatching an unheard wish for "a bit of help" into the night, the overworked lad sleeps for a month. His prized inspirationa solitary red zinniaalso charms a "someone"a full-sized, brown-skinned girl who lives nearby. "It was alive and wonderful. / It gave the someone hope. It made the someone want to work harder." Several spreads showcase the transformation surrounding the slumbering boy as the girl weeds, sows, and transplants. The little gardener awakens to a colorful summer landscape of blooms, butterflies, even an increasing worm population. The narrative ends by coyly inverting its first lines: "He doesn't look like much, but he means everything to his garden." Given the girl's major role, the contrivance doesn't ring true. Hughes' paintings trump her story, depicting the garden's renewal through color and form. A lovely visual tribute to the persistent hard work behind every flourishing garden. (Picture book. 3-7) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
